


like fate

by piratesails



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 19:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5217425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piratesails/pseuds/piratesails
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I caught the bouquet and you caught the garter” AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	like fate

**Author's Note:**

> a three month old (super cheesy) fic reposted from my tumblr

In all honesty, Emma hates weddings. She’s never been a fan of the whole commitment thing, never been one to dream about the big white dress or the five tier cake or the man standing at the end of the aisle. And attending them is just a pain in the ass, let alone being present as one of the bridesmaids. The whole thing is just ridiculous and boring and if it weren’t for the fact that it was Anna getting married, she’d be faking sick and hightailing it out of there in no time flat. 

But she’s known the Arendelle family ever since Anna and her sister Elsa’s aunt had adopted her back in middle school - which is why she’d driven down to the family home in Storybrooke, Maine, and braved the cake testings, the seating arrangements and rearrangements, the constantly changing invitation designs and not to mention, the gaudy frills of her green bridesmaid dress. Technically they’re her cousins, even if it isn’t by blood, and they’re the closest thing she has to sisters which is why she knows that no matter how much she complains, she’d do it again for them in a heartbeat.

But that still doesn’t mean she has to enjoy it, especially when Kristoff’s old college buddies are seemingly taking turns to hit on her.

“They do know that I am very capable of castrating them, right?” She mumbles to Elsa as they stand by the bar, Emma glaring daggers at the retreating overgrown frat boys she’d just shot down. She’s always been closer to the elder Arendelle sister, because they’re just about the same age and they both moved to the city together after college (Anna and, of course, Kristoff following soon after); they’re best friends, if she’s being truthful.

“Slow down there, bounty hunter,” Elsa grins, “there are children here.”

Emma only sighs into her tumbler of whiskey. “At least it’s an open bar.”

“At leastAnna had the good sense to date Kristoff in college and not one of his douchebag friends.”

Emma hums in agreement. Anna is happy, and that’s all that matters.

“Elsa! Emma! There you are!” Anna’s bubbly cheer reaches her ears and she turns just in time to see the bride practically bouncing towards them (she’s always been an excited one) with a grin on her face. “I have been looking for you  _everywhere_. Do you know what time it is?” She grabs their arms and practically drags them to a clear opening where a bunch of other women are gathered. Emma at least has the sense to deposit her empty glass onto a nearby table before Anna’s tug causes her to drop it. “Oh my God, this is my most favourite thing about the wedding, well, not my  _most_  favourite thing, I guess that would be getting married. And then the second would be the chocolate cake, so I would say it’s my third most favourite thing!” She comes to an abrupt halt in between the crowd of women and flashes them both a smile.

Emma’s come to adapt to her cousin’s mile-a-minute speech habits, and smiles back. Elsa only shakes her head in amusement, as she always does.

Anna pauses and slides her hands down to cup their hands, one in each of Emma and Elsa’s. “I am just so glad to have both of you here, and I just want to tell you that it’s okay if you don’t catch the bouquet, I just know you guys will find true love and get married one day, too.” Ah, yes. The bouquet toss. Wonderful. She was hoping to slip outside or, if push came to shove, hide in the bathroom before it happened, but she was too busy warding off men and polishing off her drink. And now she has to suffer what is probably the most unnecessarily hyped up wedding tradition ever.

Anna releases them and hurries off to the front of the crowd, grabbing the little arrangement of flowers wrapped in simple green paper, elegantly tied with an emerald coloured bow. It’s a gorgeous bouquet, holding an assortment of sunflowers and daisies that are perfect for the spring wedding, but Emma wouldn’t be caught dead with that thing in her hands. Commitment is just not her thing. That is why she easily makes her way through the hoard of overly eager women ( _really, all this fuss over some damn flowers_ ) and positions herself at the far corner of the crowd, definitely away from the range of the toss.

So, it’s a wonder, really, how the Goddamn bouquet lands directly in her hands when she wasn’t even holding her palms out like everyone else. She guesses she underestimated Anna’s throwing arm. She grips the flowers tightly, paper rustling under her palms, as the women around her groan in unison and send her grimacing looks. They can have the stupid flowers if they want, for all she cares.

“Oh, Emma! I’m so happy you caught it, it’s so amazing, you know what this means right?” Anna rushes over and wraps her up in a hug, squeezing her and then pushing back to watch her with eager eyes.

“Anna, it’s just a superstition, I’m not getting married next,” she sighs.

“Just you wait and see, Emma Swan,” Anna grins broadly at her before getting sidetracked and saying something about Kristoff before darting away.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Elsa chuckles, understanding Emma more than anyone else in the room.

“Shut up,” she mumbles, eyes scanning the room for somewhere,  _anywhere_ , to dump off the offending item in her hands. She’s just hoping her mother hasn’t gotten the news about her catching the flowers yet, God knows Ingrid’s excitement would be worse than Anna’s. She wonders how she ends up constantly surrounded with such positive and hopeful people when she’s the world’s biggest cynic.

“Maybe this is a sign that you should get out there, meet someone new.”

“I don’t believe in signs,” she huffs and turns to face Elsa fully, “and don’t you even  _think_  about giving me that ‘be open to love’ speech that Mary Margaret has ingrained into my brain.” She loves her friends, really, but she’s had this conversation with them one too many times, and she can’t help but be a little relieved that Mary Margaret had to visit her in-laws and couldn’t attend the wedding.

“Look, all I’m saying is that it’s been awhile since you’ve last been on a date.”

“I go on dates,” she mutters defensively.

“Fake dates to trap perps don’t count,” Elsa gives her a pointed look, which then softens. “Emma, you know we just want you to be happy.”

Emma opens her mouth to retort but is cut off by a rich, lilting voice.

“Ah, so you’re the lovely lass that managed to catch the bouquet,” the voice comes from behind her and she watches Elsa’s eyes widen ever so slightly as she takes in whoever is facing her back. She makes to turn around slowly and she swears to God if it turns out to be another one of those stupid frat boys, she’s going to -

Oh.

_Oh_.

The man standing in front of her is definitely  _not_  one of Kristoff’s leering friends. He cocks his head to the side a bit as if to regard her with his glinting blue eyes, his smile revealing twin flashing dimples. And his fitted suit -  _Christ_ , she needs to get a hold of herself.

He extends a hand in her direction. “Killian Jones, I’m the poor sod that caught the garter,” she takes his hand on instinct but instead of shaking it, he flips it over and slowly kisses the back of it, all the while never breaking eye contact, “although now I’m thinking it wasn’t such a bad thing.”

His breath fans over her skin as he speaks and she practically yanks her hand out of his grasp. She doesn’t get a creepy vibe from him like she does from the other guys, and she’s not sure why that unsettles her even more. He seems undeterred by her ill response, in fact she thinks his smile broadens just a little bit more.

She clears her throat and darts her eyes away from his. “Well, congratulations on that brilliant feat, you should add it to your résumé,” she deadpans.

He shifts a bit in front of her and then he’s extending a hand towards Elsa who’s moved to stand by her side. “Pleasure to meet you, Lady Arendelle. Kristoff speaks very highly of you.”

Elsa shakes his hand (he doesn’t bring it anywhere near his lips and she doesn’t know how she feels about that). She notices Elsa’s smirk, “Yes, well, I think he only does that because he’s afraid of me.”

The man -  _Killian’s_  laugh is deep and carefree, and it instantly warms her insides, leaving her with a wake of unwanted butterflies in the base of her stomach.

“It was great to meet you, but I’ve got to go check on the caterers,” Elsa says a little too happily and it takes everything in Emma not to reach out and clamber on to her friend’s elbow and force her to stay. “I’ll see you later,  _Emma_ ,” Elsa shoots her a wicked grin and damn her friend for knowing that she would refrain from giving out her information to a stranger. But now, of course, he knows her name.

Killian nods at Elsa with a smile as she side steps him. Her friend throws her a stern look and points at Killian from over his shoulder before hurrying away, most likely to tell Anna all about it, and then text Mary Margaret, too. Caterers, her ass.

“So,” Killian brings her attention back to him, and she notices he’s grinning widely, bouncing on the balls of his feet a little, “Emma.“

His English accent wraps around her name and makes it sound strangely poetic. The longer she stands next to him, the more he throws her off, so she does what she’s good at and strengthens her defenses. She crosses her arms over her chest, the stupid flowers she’s still clutching making the act far more difficult.

She stares him down but his cheerful expression never falters. In fact, he takes a few steps closer to her, stopping half an arm’s length away. From here she can make out the flecks of ginger in his beard, the specs of light blue in his eyes and fuck, she didn’t come here to get involved with anyone, she doesn’t do relationships, she doesn’t believe in signs and she - she is undeniably attracted to the man in front of her.

But that doesn’t mean it has to go anywhere.

(Even  _if_  the way he runs his tongue over his bottom lip and cocks his eyebrow as he looks at her makes her wish it could go somewhere.)

"I do believe it’s customary for us to share a dance,” he raises both eyebrows in perfect unison as if it’s the best suggestion to ever grace her.

She narrows her eyes at him. She knows his type; attractive and probably successful, thinks he can pick up a lonely bridesmaid for the night with his charm and the allure of the wedding atmosphere. Well, she’s had plenty of experience dealing with that. “Look, buddy, I don’t know what your endgame here is but -”

“My  _endgame_ ,” he smirks, interrupting her, “would be us on the dancefloor, swaying along to the moderately average wedding band and then perhaps getting some cake afterwards.”

She can’t decide if it’s a bad thing or not that her in-built lie detector doesn’t go off at his statement.

"The flowers and the garter are a stupid superstition, it doesn’t mean I have to dance with you,” she retorts.

He runs a hand through his dark hair, mussing it up even more than it was when he’d walked up behind her, and she has to physically refrain herself from reaching out to straighten out a few wayward strands.

She can tell he’s a bit frustrated by her constantly refusing his offers but for some reason, he keeps trying, eyes still unabashedly alight.

“I’m simply requesting the pleasure of your company, darling. One dance, take a leap of faith,” he throws a charming smile her way and damn him because it breaks through her already weakening resolve. “After all, it’s merely a stupid superstition; no harm, no foul.”

They must look ridiculous, standing and bantering back and forth in the middle of the reception hall. He sticks his arm out and she can see a challenge in his eyes as he throws her own words back at her. And she’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

She drops the bouquet down on a nearby table and places her palm in the crook of his elbow, “ _One_  dance, and don’t get any ideas.”

His boyish grin is almost blinding, “I wouldn’t dream of it, love.”

(One dance turns into three, and they sit together afterwards while they dig into their slices of cake. She can feel her mother’s eyes on her from the far side of the room but she can’t find it in herself to feel any kind of regret. She finds out he works with Kristoff and, go figure, lives not too far away from her area in the city. She also finds out that he’s kind and witty and _different_ , and he has an elder brother in England, and a niece that he spoils rotten.

It’s so unlike her, she thinks as he drapes his suit jacket over her shoulders while they stroll through the park after the reception, to let herself be this open and honest with a man she’s just met. But with Killian Jones, she feels like she’s known him for a lifetime.)

(They meet for coffee the day before his flight back, and she promises to call him when she flies in a week later, much to Elsa’s excitement. Mary Margaret even texts her - in all caps and with eighteen exclamation points, might she add - how happy she is and how she can’t wait to meet  _the hottie_  (Elsa’s words, though she won’t deny them). It’s all terribly embarrassing but when Killian kisses her soundly for the first time when she drops him off at the airport, she finds she doesn’t mind it one bit.)

(“What did I tell you?” Anna grins triumphantly as she bounds over to hug Emma after the ceremony. It wasn’t smooth sailing all the while what with Emma falling into a state of panic because it was all  _too hard_ and  _too fast_ , but two years later and, well, Anna was right after all.

“Yeah, yeah,” she feels Killian’s grip tighten around her waist as she unconsciously snuggles closer into his side, “maybe it isn’t a dumb superstition after all.”

Killian nudges her ear with his nose after Anna leaves, whispering, “You know, I knew it was fate from the moment I saw that bouquet in your hands.”

“Don’t get cocky with me on our wedding day, Mr. Jones,” she rolls her eyes with a smile, nudging him away.

He pouts at her in a unfairly attractive way and she can only lean forward and kiss it away. He pulls back from the soft kiss, leaving his forehead touching hers, “As you wish, Mrs. Jones.”

And, maybe, if she’s being honest, weddings really aren’t half bad.)


End file.
